


Fearful Symmetry

by jadelennox



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Community: stop_drop_porn, M/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadelennox/pseuds/jadelennox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray didn't know what Fraser saw in him, had ever seen in him. Experimental hair, scraggly blond goatee, leather jacket and chaps... he looked like any other fashion challenged Chicago flatfoot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearful Symmetry

**Author's Note:**

> Stop_drop_porn prompt: Toboggan
> 
> Anti-Warning: This is 100% consensual with no consent issues, because that's the only kind of story I'm capable of writing, despite the dark universe. But there is fully consensual light d/s.
> 
> [](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/)  
> This work by jadelennox is licensed under a [Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/).

"Kowalski!" snapped the lieutenant. Ray slipped into the office and closed the door. "You wanna explain why I've got Fibbies crawling up my ass?"

"Look, Lieu," Ray began, leaning against the doorframe.

"Look, nothing," she said, cutting him off. "I'm gonna turn you under to them in five minutes flat if you don't make this problem go away. I cannot have Feds poking their nose around my precinct, capisce?"

Ray sighed. It wasn't his fault they were here, but it was sure as hell going to be his problem getting them gone. "Capisce, Lieutenant Vecchio," he said.

"Damn right, you capisce," said the lieutenant. Her expression softened, just the tiniest smidge. "Dealing with Fibbies is nobody's idea of a good time," she said, leaning back on her office chaise lounge and stretching out, the maroon leather of her catsuit catching the light distractingly. "But I trust you to be able to handle it, or at least as well as any of these morons."

Ray raised his eyebrows. That was the nicest thing he'd ever heard her say. He hoped that didn't mean she had plans for him. Carefully, he avoided looking at the foot of the chaise lounge, where Detective Dewey knelt, one stiletto heel digging into his chest, massaging the lieutenant's booted calves. He _really_ hoped she didn't have plans for him.

"I'll do you proud, Lieu," Ray said, slipping out the door.

* * *

This was just not Ray's day.

Did it have to be Vecchio? Of all the Feds who had nothing better to do with their day than fuck up the business of a normal, hard-working, corrupt police precinct, it had to be Vecchio. It's not like Ray had ever wanted to do undercover, but what was he gonna do, say no? Get fired, maybe? Go back and live in the Millennium Park tent city with his old man?

So when Ray goddamn Vecchio came back from _his_ time under cover, after bringing the Langoustini family back safely into the fold -- the idiots thought they could keep a bigger cut of the takings from the government -- the first person he saw when he walked in was Ray Kowalski, minding his own business at the desk Vecchio thought of as his. Sure, Vecchio was working for the Feds full-time by then, but he still didn't like to see anybody touching things he'd claimed. His desk. His chair. His name. His partner.

"So, Stanley," sneered Vecchio. "What's your explanation for the missing heroin? IA doesn't like it when 9 kilos of China white vanishes and none of it makes it into their offices."

"What's my explanation?" Ray knew he should play this easy, but some things a man could just not take. "That was you, you jackass. Your bust, your heroin."

Vecchio smiled, grimly triumphant on his goateed face. "Your name on the paperwork."

"This is ridiculous," said Ray. "That's _your_ name on the paperwork. I wasn't even in this precinct then."

Vecchio shook his head, almost pitying. "Stanley, Stanley," he said. "When you came to the 27, you became Ray Vecchio for bureaucratic purposes. You know that. As far as IA is concerned, you vanished a big old pile of hard candy."

Ray clenched his hands into fists, desperate to avoid punching Ray Vecchio in his ugly mug. "What if I say I turned the stuff in to my lieutenant?" he asked. "Then it's her problem, if she's the one who claimed it. You want your own sister should take the fall for this?"

Ray Vecchio shrugged. "Frannie can take care of herself. Or does she not have half the detectives in this precinct by the balls?" He shrugged. "But I'd still have one more line item to hold to your account."

Ray slumped. All his crazed bravado wasn't going to do him a damn bit of good against the infamous Ray Vecchio. Everybody knew how long it had taken Armando Langoustini to die.

His best bet was just to take the fall for this one -- Huey had a line on someone who could get him fake papers once he was fired, maybe good enough to get him into the bread lines. Better than making an enemy of the lieutenant, the only Vecchio who'd ever looked out for him.

So much for his career. Dot it, file it, stick it in a box marked done.

The door opened so quietly behind him that Ray didn't even hear it, but he saw the hungry look on Vecchio's face and knew who'd come in. "Hey, Frase," he said, without turning around.

"Ray. Ray." That voice, smooth and dark, gave Ray chills just as much now as it had the first day they'd met. He hadn't ever expected to be intimidated by a member of the Imperial Mounted Police, but that cold voice that gave and asked no quarter made him break down and confess all the details of the undercover gig five minutes after they met. So much for Ray's mental picture of the IMP, tobogganing through the frozen north, living in igloos, doing good and fighting graft with the power of icicles and maple leaves.

"Benny," said Vecchio. "Come to get your man? Hoping you can talk him out of trouble?"

Fraser walked further into the room, and Ray noted with surprise -- and lust -- that he was in [full dress uniform](http://www.3wishes.com/images/mountie.jpg). Fraser's disrespect for the forms of authority was notorious; Ray almost never got to see him in uniform.

"I'm hoping to assist my partner out of his current dilemma, yes." Ray snorted, but Fraser continued. "And I'm hoping to get my men."

Wait, what?

"Wait, what?" asked Vecchio. "If you wanna fuck Stanley's way to acquitted, count me as vote number one, but you sure as hell don't get to keep him after. If we do this, you stay with _me_."

"Ray," said Fraser, stepping further into the room, stepping right into Vecchio's space. Like with Whassisname's bell, Ray started salivating as his eyes tracked right to Fraser's ass in those tight, tight pants. "Look at him. _Look at him_." Fraser turned around, facing Ray, steering Vecchio's chin with one large hand so that he, too, was looking. Ray squirmed under their combined gaze, Fraser's hot, and Vecchio's... considering?

"What the hell, Frase, I'm not --" he began, but Fraser cut him off.

"Ray. Ray. _Ray_." Fraser stepped forward, pulling Vecchio with him by sheer magnetism. "Hush, Ray," he said, and then kissed him, his mouth overwhelming, his teeth digging into Ray's bottom lip. Ray's eyes fluttered closed. "There's no shame in seeing the beauty of an enemy. Being lovers with a worthwhile warrior, like Paris and Menelaus in the  Iliad." The heel of his hand ground against Ray's groin, and Ray groaned.

"This is crazier than usual, Benny," he heard Vecchio say. "I didn't come back to Chicago for _him_."

Fraser pulled back, and Ray barely managed not to whimper. "Perhaps you should reconsider, Ray." Ray opened his eyes to see Vecchio right in front of him, wild-eyed.

Fraser held Vecchio's hand and pressed it up against Ray's groin where his own hand had been moments before. "Look at him," he said again.

Ray didn't know what Fraser saw in him, had ever seen in him. Experimental hair, scraggly blond goatee, leather jacket and chaps... he looked like any other fashion challenged Chicago flatfoot. Fraser, on the other hand, looked like warm melted sex. His hair and beard just begged to have fingers running through them. The scar on his face cut the planes of his face into darkness and light. The only thing that kept him from looking like the most fuckable Mountie in existence was his glittering aura of menace, as if anyone who touched him would end up with every finger broken.

Ray didn't know how he'd ever gotten so lucky as to have Fraser pay attention to him.

Fraser was paying attention now, with that overwhelming focus he had. And disturbingly, now Vecchio was as well. Ray fidgeted, pressed against Vecchio's hand, tried not to whimper. Vecchio's harsh breathing echoed in the room.

The fact is, Ray had always known he wouldn't throw Vecchio out of bed for eating crackers. It was now becoming abundantly clear that he also wouldn't throw Vecchio out of bed for using him as bait in an elaborate scheme to blackmail Fraser into sex. He'd feel disloyal, except this was clearly what Fraser wanted, as well.

Ray reached a hand behind Vecchio's neck and dragged him into a kiss, pressing into Vecchio's hand as he did so. Vecchio groaned into his mouth, and Ray pulled him in tighter, running one hand under the scratchy fabric of Vecchio's gold lamé suit jacket.

 

"Ah." Fraser's breath sighed against Ray's face. He felt teeth in his earlobe, against his neck, and then Fraser's competent hands stripping him. He wanted to help, he meant to, but suddenly he found he couldn't let go of Vecchio. Vecchio's tongue in his mouth was driving him crazy. Vecchio's hand against his groin kneaded, rubbed, and when Fraser had ruthlessly stripped off chaps and jeans, gripped him. Ray was naked first, and he clung to Vecchio like a limpet, grinding against him, heedless of the gold lamé.

"God," gasped Vecchio into his mouth, as Fraser transferred his attentions. When they didn't separate fast enough for Fraser to remove Vecchio's jacket and shirt, Fraser retrieved the Bowie knife from the sheaf on his thigh and slit them down the seams, yanking the shreds off Vecchio's torso.

Ray was thrusting into the hollow of Vecchio's finally nude hip when he felt Fraser's hands pressing down on his shoulders. "Down, Ray," said Fraser, and it was the magic bell again, Ray could never ignore that voice. He folded his knees. "Suck him, Ray," and Ray didn't want to, he wanted Fraser, but my god that cock was gorgeous, long and flushed dark and curved, and he couldn't help himself. He rubbed the smooth, hot head against his cheek, against his lips, against his tongue, and Vecchio shouted out loud and gripped his hair, pulling Ray down until his cock pressed deliciously painful against the back of Ray's throat.

"Beautiful," he heard Fraser say, and when he rolled his eyes to the right he saw Fraser had unbuttoned the skintight trousers of his dress uniform and loosely holding his own cock, calmly stroking himself. "Stroke yourself," Fraser added, and Ray helplessly complied, thrusting into his own hand and loving the feel of Vecchio's cock weighting his tongue, filling his mouth.

Vecchio's fingers twisted in his hair and Ray couldn't help it, he couldn't, even though he knew it would disappoint Fraser. He came, arching his back, gulping helpless sobs around Vecchio's gorgeous cock as the shivers of orgasm wrenched his spine. Moments later he was gulping again, working around the spasms deep in his throat as Vecchio dug his fingers into Ray's head and came and came and came.

Endless time passed and Ray shivered on the floor, moving only to whimper and reach out when Vecchio finally slipped out from between his lips and dropped to his own knees beside Ray. Ray leaned forward, resting his forehead against Vecchio's, unable to stop trembling.

A leather jacket -- his own, he realized -- was laid across his shoulders, and Fraser entered Ray's field of vision as he folded neatly to the floor to sit crosslegged beside him. One arm over Ray's shoulder, one arm over Vecchio's, Fraser smiled at both of them, affectionate delight in his eyes.

"Do you understand now, Ray?" he asked, grinning at Vecchio.

And Vecchio, vicious killer Vecchio, mob infiltrator Vecchio, smiled back. "You win, Benny," he said. "You always do. We'll keep him."


End file.
